


The Meeting of The Waters

by alfredvonkrolock



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Angst, Child Abuse, Depression, Gen, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Multi, Past Abuse, Period-Typical Homophobia, Suicidal Thoughts, Unfinished and unsure, smut will happen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-25
Updated: 2016-07-09
Packaged: 2018-06-04 08:37:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6650641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alfredvonkrolock/pseuds/alfredvonkrolock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fire is not always quenched by water. Sometimes you have to put it out in other ways.</p><p>This story follows the chronological order of the blossoming love between Thomas Barrow and Tom Branson. </p><p>*Title and chapter names are taken from the poem "The Meeting of The Waters" by Thomas Moore.</p><p>**CURRENTLY UNFINISHED AND I DON'T KNOW IF IT WILL CONTINUE. VIEW THE LAST CHAPTER FOR SPECIFIC NOTES ON THE SUBJECT**</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. There is not in the wide world a valley so sweet

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't remotely "english" in terms of writing. This is unbetad, and all mistakes are mine alone. Comments and criticisms welcome!

Thomas hadn’t been the Butler for long, but the job had quickly become a normality for him. Perhaps it was because, and how he hated to admit it, Carson was the best teacher, even when he wasn’t meaning to be. Thomas easily remembered the way Carson would hold the bottles to decant the wine, as to not spill a single drop; or the countless times Thomas had helped the former Butler polish the silver, thus showing him the quickest (and most effective way) to make it look brand new. But the one thing Thomas could not grasp a hold of, was the way Carson would drift around the house, unheard and practically unseen. It was a great advantage to him, catching all the gossip before it got out of hand, simply because no one noticed he was listening. 

Truly, it was a skill Thomas would love to know, but unfortunately for him, he was absolute shit at it. Not that it mattered too much, because everyone stopped talking the moment they even sensed Thomas was approaching.

See, that’s the one thing that didn’t change when he was promoted; the other servants didn’t respect him as their leader. They would turn their noses up at him, giggling like schoolgirls behind his back. Whenever he entered a room, the others would take their sweet time standing up; unlike Carson, for whom they would practically spill their tea for when standing. 

It was no secret that Thomas was unliked downstairs, but hey, it was a paying job. 

It was a regular Tuesday in September, the day grey and weary. The children were cooped up inside, the nanny watching over them. Lord and Lady Grantham were in London visiting his sister, leaving Tom Branson, Lady Mary, and Henry Talbot at home. Thomas was in his office, decanting wine for that evening’s dinner, when there was a knock at the door. 

Careful to set the bottle down, he answered for them to come in. 

“Sorry to bother you, Mr. Barrow.” It was Andy, a bundle of letters in his hand. “I brought the post for you. Also, Lady Mary said she would like to see you in library.”

“You can set those of the desk, thank you very much. I’ll be right back.” 

Thomas made his way up the stairs to the library, wondering why Lady Mary wanted to see him. Perhaps to let him know that the Lord and Ladyship would be staying in London for a few more days? Or coming home earlier? 

When he arrived to the room, he found Lady Mary and her husband, Henry, sitting on the sofa, enjoying their tea. 

“Ah, Barrow.” she said, setting her cup onto the saucer. “I wanted to let you know before Ms. Patmore began working on dinner, that Henry and I will be leaving this afternoon to go to London. Papa has telephoned and said Rosamund wishes to see us.” 

Thomas nodded. “Of course, m’lady. Will Master George be joining you as well?”

“No, he wasn’t feeling too well this morning, so he’ll stay here with nanny. Tom and Sybbie will be here as well, as long as Tom hasn’t made any plans.”

“I’ll inform Ms. Patmore. Anything else, m’lady?”

“No Barrow, that will be it.” 

Thomas nodded once again to show that he was leaving, and went back downstairs to tell the others. He assumed Anna already knew, being Lady Mary’s maid, so he made a quick stop to Ms. Patmore’s, letting her know, before he shut himself back up in his office. 

The day faded into evening as normal, until it was time for Thomas to head upstairs. There was a strange buzz in the air, almost supernatural in nature. Of course, that was nonsense. Thomas was just a little nervous about serving Tom alone, he always had been. 

Barrow often found himself weak among good looking men, and Tom was no exception. He couldn’t show it, of course, but years of hiding his unfortunate... disposition aided him. That, and learning the “servant’s stare” had also helped. 

Thomas stood in his place at the side of the wine table, watching Andy serve food. Everything was going normal. Until, it wasn’t. 

“So Thomas, how are things downstairs?” Tom asked, cutting his ham. “Anything new?”

Thomas stared ahead. “Just the usual, sir.” 

“Oh, I’ve told you before! You can call me Tom, especially when the others aren’t here. I hate formalities.” 

His mouth curved up ever so slightly, but if you blinked you missed it. Quickly though, Thomas went back into his stare. “Would you like some more wine, Tom?”

Tom shook his head. “No, I think I’m going to go through here soon. Won’t you join me, Thomas?” 

His stare broke.

“Uhm, I’ll be in there sir, waiting to serve.” 

“No, I mean join me for a brandy. Sit, relax. You, as well as the others, deserve a break.”


	2. s that vale in whose bosom the bright waters meet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas gets nervous.  
> Tom begins to notice things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am simply astounded by the positive criticism, the kudos, and the hits this has gotten in just a few days! Thank you all so very much!
> 
> Once again, this is unbetad and all mistakes are my own.

To be totally honest, there had only been a handful of times where Thomas has been nervous. Yes, he had cried on numerous occasions, been so angry that he wanted to kill a man, but nervous? He could count it on his bad hand the number of times that has happened. But standing in front of the drawing room door, his heart raced a thousand times a minute. 

Thomas had done what Tom asked (as any Butler would do), and told the servants they could have the night off, as well as the following day. Half of them were thankful, the others slightly put off by an ex-chauffeur bossing them around. But it was not up to them to say anything, for their commander had spoken. 

After delivering the news to the staff, Thomas locked the door of his office to compose himself, and drink a glass of wine. Obviously, it hadn’t helped. 

Now here he was, standing in front of the closed door to the drawing room, inhaling deeply. He thought about changing into his Sunday best, but Thomas was still butler, so he chose to wear his livery. All he had to do now, was step into the room.

That’s all.

And before he got a chance to chicken out, perhaps feign illness, he entered. 

Tom was sitting on a sofa by the brandy table, a book in his hands. He hadn’t heard the door open, so his eyes were still scanning the pages. It was a worn copy of Harriet and the Piper, no doubt owned by Lord Grantham. 

Thomas continued to watch the man across the room from him, noting his posture and the way he crossed his legs. He had taken off his jacket, and laid it across the sofa next to him. But it wasn’t just tossed; no, it was folded neatly, as to not wrinkle. Thomas cleared his throat.

“Mr. Bra-” he stopped, and licked his lips. My lord, how they were dry. So was his throat. “Tom.” 

The Irishman looked up and smiled, closing the book and tossing it onto his jacket. “Good!” he said. “I thought I might have to go down there and drag you up by your collar.” He chuckled. 

So, Thomas thought. It seems he’s already had a few brandies. 

“Aren’t you going to come sit?”

Thomas just stared at the man. “Pardon?”

“I’m asking if you would like to have a seat in the chair, Thomas.” 

Now, there was something about that statement that seemed to click in Thomas’s mind; perhaps it was the fact a former servant was asking him to sit. Or maybe it was the fact that for the first time, someone had asked what Thomas would like. Coming back to his senses, Thomas noticed that Tom was looking at him now, concern showing on his face.

“Thomas?”

Excuse yourself, and just go upstairs. Lock yourself in your room and hide until Thursday. That’s all Thomas could think to himself, but his body fought against his brain, because he turned slowly, and shut the door. Now he was with Tom Branson, in a room, alone. He’d never tell anyone, but he had fantasies that started almost exactly like this, and ending with Tom and himself tangled between bedsheets, whispering words no one could hear during daylight hours. 

But fantasy is not to be confused with reality, lest Thomas end up in prison. He was afraid it was going to happen with the Duke, and he wasn’t going to let it happen now. 

“Are you alright?” 

Once more, Thomas had let his mind wander, leaving Tom to think something was wrong with the man. 

“My apologies.... Tom.” 

“You had me worried there for a moment, you looked.. Uh, almost afraid.” 

Thomas walked past the other man, and poured himself a glass of brandy. It didn’t feel right, to be pouring himself a drink in this room, but here he was. Thomas turned to Tom, took a sip of the alcohol, and smiled. 

“The only thing I’m afraid of is Carson walking in at any moment, and throwing me out for my actions.”

“Well,” Tom said, “Carson isn’t here anymore. So you needn’t worry. Now, are you going to sit?”

Right. Sitting. That’s what people did when they weren’t being a butler; how he had almost forgotten. Thomas took a seat where Tom was before, and when he noticed this mistake, he rose. Tom, however, stopped him. 

“No, I’ll sit here. You can stay.” 

Thomas did as he was told, sinking back into the sofa. He had to admit, it was comfortable. He’d never had the privilege of sitting in something so nice, and it was... wonderful. Honestly, not having to worry about serving any drinks this evening was another amazing feeling. He removed his jacket, folding it over the arm.

“So-”

“Uhm-”

The two men started talking at the same time, both rushing to fill the awkward silence in the room. Thomas felt his face grow warm, his stomach tightening. It didn’t feel right to speak to an upstairs man like this, but he was told he was allowed to. Tom, however, snickered, scratching the back of his head. Apparently he found the Englishman’s lack of comfort for funny. At least, that’s what Thomas thought. 

“You go first, Thomas. You’re the guest here.” 

There was that smile again; the one that was a clear indicator that Tom had a buzz going on. 

“Well... How are the children?” It was a simple enough question, one that could lead to more conversation and perhaps end this uncomfortable affair. 

“Sybbie is doing wonderful, she’s upstairs with George. He seems to be feeling better as well, at least that’s what nanny has said.” He raised an eyebrow. “God forbid I try to see my child when in her care, though. If it’s not scheduled, she usually says no.” 

Thomas made a face. “But that’s wrong, she can’t deny you the right to see your only daughter, can she?” 

“Alas, she can. Back in Ireland, your nanny would have only been present for bathing and sleeping. The rest of the time, you were with your parents. If you could afford one, that is.” 

“I don’t like that idea,” Thomas said. “Not being able to see your children. But maybe that’s because I didn’t grow up in this environment.”  
Tom smiled again, nodding. “You’ve always been so distant, Thomas. But I feel like there are some identical points to our pasts. This,” he said, gesturing to the room, “is new to us. I grew up with my parents on a farm, working from sunrise to sunset, I’ve never seen a house this large until I moved here.”

Thomas snorted. “Somewhat similar. I’ve lived in England my whole life. My dad was a clockmaker and I worked for him until I was fifteen, when he kicked-” He stopped short. Tom gave him that look again, the worried one. 

Thomas stood, needing to leave. He’d almost opened up, something he swore he would never do again. Not since the trouble with O’Brien and Jimmy... 

Tom rose as well, stepping towards Thomas. He reached out, setting a hand onto his arm; it was a movement that would be incredibly inappropriate, had Tom known what Thomas was... how he felt about men. Hell, he wouldn’t even be having this conversation with him now. 

“I have to go...” 

“Thomas, stay. Please?”

“No, there’s some... paperwork that needs to be done.” He walked to the door (oh how he wanted to run), and prepared to leave. Before he did, he spun back around, to say goodnight; but something caught his eye. It was the brandy glasses. Only one had been used, and Thomas had been that sole user. Tom didn’t have any... His mind raced. 

“Goodnight To-” he stopped. “Goodnight, Mr. Branson.”

* * *

Tom was confused, there was no other way to say it. He had invited Barrow to have a drink with him, take the night off, and relax! But the other man chose to remain distant, separating himself due to.. what? Social status? The fact he was a homosexual? 

Tom had to laugh at the fact. 

Thomas had nothing to worry about when it came to who he loved; Tom himself found himself fond of both sexes, although he had never been with a man intimately. Sure, there was some messing around back in Ireland, but it could all be chalked up to drunken teenagers all pent up, no where else to turn.  
No, not Tom. He had crushed on a childhood friend of his, his best friend, actually. Patrick had been around since Tom was six, having moved from Dublin. When Tom moved to England, he felt heartbroken, losing someone he cared for so deeply. And then he met Sybil, and his life changed.

But that too came to an abrupt end. 

Sitting back on the sofa, Tom found himself grabbing Thomas’s jacket. He was going to take it up to the Butler when a pleasant scent caught him off guard. How he would have been called a fool if anyone were in the room with him, seeing him sniff that jacket to see if it was the source of the smell. And, indeed it was. It made him smile, a full on grin. 

Yeah, Thomas was good looking, Tom was not afraid to admit it. But perhaps he was too forward this evening; touching his arm was enough to make him retreat back into his servant facade. 

Inhaling the jacket’s smell one more time, Tom smirked. He could easily get used to Barrow, if the other man allowed them to become friends.

But who knows?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much! Comments, criticism, and reviews are appreciated! I love you all!


	3. Oh! the last rays of feeling and life must depart,

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barrow helps Tom down at the shop.  
> Branson is confused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. There's some smut here, nothing too dangerous. 
> 
> Once again, thank you for all the compliments about this story! I apologize for the length between updates (life happened) but I promise the next ones will be frequent!

Tom had no way of knowing that his eyes were the subject of Thomas’s fantasy that night; that the soft grunts and moans coming from behind the closed door of the butler were broken sounds of Tom’s own name. The images that went through his mind were anything but pure, all of it enough to send the Dowager Countess into a heart attack. 

_It started with the two of them sitting on that sofa, the rest of the house asleep around them. Tom would lay his hand on Thomas’s knee, tracing small circles. Slowly, his hand would inch up his thigh and he would lean in, planting his lips firmly onto Thomas’s own. Unable to control himself, Thomas would place his hands on the Irishman’s hips, pulling his body onto him. Then Tom would grind his hips into the butler, whispering sweet nothings and words that were practically inaudible. The love, the desire, the primal instinct of sex would brighten Tom’s blue eyes, his face flushed and his hair coming undone._

That was as far as Thomas made it before he came; the moan that escaped his lips louder than anything he’d ever emitted. For a short moment, he sat in the blissful silence, allowing his orgasm to fully ride out. 

After rising to wipe his hand and stomach off, he climbed back into bed, imagining what it would feel like to fall asleep with someone beside him.

* * *

The following morning at breakfast proved to be a little tricky for him. Thomas had trouble keeping his eyes off of Tom, and he was unsure why. It was one bloody fantasy, he told himself. Sod your feelings, and get on like usual. 

“How are you feeling this morning, Thomas?”

Per usual, Thomas had phased out, not noticing that Tom was watching carefully. He shook his head, bringing himself back to focus. 

“I’m alright, sir.”

Branson sighed. “We’ve been over this, Thomas. You don’t have to call me sir. Again, I’d _prefer_ if you didn’t call me that. It makes me feel all upper class; and upper class I am not.” He chuckled. “I understand you would have say it in front of Robert, but when it’s just us, there’s no big deal.” 

_Oh, I have no issue calling you Tom. I’m just afraid I’ll moan it instead of speak it. _Thomas had to tell himself to mentally shut up, and take those thoughts elsewhere. He merely nodded and said, “Yes, sir. I mean... Tom.”__

“Very good. Anyways, I wanted to let you know that Robert telephoned earlier. They’re planning to stay in London a little longer. It seems Edith wants the others to see the Sketch’s office and treat the family to a nice London meal.”

“But aren’t you apart of the family, s-” he paused. “Tom.” _Damn, it was going to take some getting used to,_ he thought to himself. _And God help him if he slips up in front of Lord Grantham - or, heaven forbid - Mrs. Patmore._

“Well, yes. But I’d prefer to be out here instead London. Besides, with Henry out of the village, someone needs to look over the shop. And who better, than Branson himself?” He cast the butler a small smile, before taking a sip of his coffee. “I actually have to run down to the shop today, and do a little bit of work. Would you mind terribly if I dragged you along? It’s just some lifting boxes and restocking. I could use a helping hand.” 

There was that smile again. 

“Of course. But wouldn’t you think someone like Andy would be of better service? He is younger.” Thomas sighed. “And taller,” he added on. 

“No, you’ll do quite nicely. You have a muscular build that suits my needs.” 

Thomas almost let his stare falter at the... what, _compliment?_ It sounded like one. But it also sounded slightly improper and, to be quite honest, if made his heart flutter a little. Even if Branson didn’t mean it like that, to say something nice about his physique made him feel a little prouder. 

What the hell? 

Two days ago, Thomas could have cared less if the Irish toff complimented him, because he’d never reacted physically to it. He would have held the words in his mind until late at night when he was alone, and use it as release. But now, it was enough to make him go red in the face. Was it the fact he had touched him? No one, save for Phyllis had touched him in years.

That had to be the cause. 

Thomas cleared his throat. “I’ll go with you to the shop. Just let me alert the staff and give them a list of what needs to be done. I’ll have Mrs. Patmore be in charge while we’re gone.” _I’ll have her make the children something special for lunch,_ he added to himself. _Something savory and delicious. The children deserve it._

“Wonderful! I’ll meet you by the car at eleven o’clock sharp, yes?”

“Yes sir.” This time, Tom didn’t say anything. He merely shook his head.

* * *

The drive down to the shop was nothing short of awkward, Thomas hated riding in cars, as he was more of a walking man himself. But now, he really wanted out. Tom kept trying to make small talk, which he was horrid at. Topics ranged from Thomas’s knowledge about Ireland (very little) to what kind of books Thomas enjoyed (not the kind meant for regular men, that’s for sure). Yet, no matter how much he wanted to stop this miserable ride, he was thankful for the excuse to sit this close to Tom again. He’d been a nervous wreck that night after dinner, and he made an excuse to leave. As soon as he was gone, he regretted it. But here he was now, no excuses to give.

After half an hour of tedious conversation, the two finally pulled into the shop in York. Tom tossed Thomas the key to the shop, as went and grabbed some supplies from the back of the car. The butler went to unlock the door, impressed at the shop’s size. It was decent, with large windows up front. It looked like many of the other stores in the village, except for its rear end, which held a large garage meant for car repair. That’s where the two would be working for the next few hours. 

Thomas held the door open as Tom entered the shop with a large box, presumably filled with spare bolts and nails. 

“Follow me, Thomas. And lock the door behind you!”

He’d never admit, but there was a secret thrill to hearing that deadbolt lock. It wouldn’t give them any privacy, there were windows in which any passerby can look through. But the idea that Thomas was now _locked_ in a room with Tom? Oh, it would fuel his fantasies for a week. 

_Come now, old boy. Get your mind off of such things. You’re here to work._ Thomas smirked inwardly, setting the key on the purchase counter. His mind has been so erratic these past few days.  
He could use a drink.

There was a rattle coming from the other side of a doorway in the shop’s back, and Thomas strode towards it. When he passed through the threshold, he found himself in a large garage; the doors were closed, but light seeped in through the windows high at the top. Shelves lined the walls, and atop those, were boxes. Each box was labeled with different names (most of which Thomas didn’t recognize) and spread out according to location on the car. To his right, Thomas saw one group of shelves that had nothing on them. This, he assumed, was where they were restocking. 

“Sorry about the heat, Thomas.” He turned to Tom. “It’s only going to get worse, just so you know.” 

He didn’t really noticed until Tom said something, but damn, it was hot as Hell. Quickly, Thomas shed his jacket and unbuttoned his sleeves, rolling them up. It was going to be a long day. 

“Alright, so we’ll start with the-” 

“Tom, I’m letting you know right now that using names isn’t going to help me. Just point to a box, and tell me where.”

“Alright. The brown one goes on the shelf.” 

Thomas narrows his eyes. “They’re all brown.” 

“Exactly. So you might as well learn some new things while you’re helping me today. Who knows, it could come in handy one day.” 

And so, that’s how they worked for hours. Tom would point to a box, describe what was in it and how it worked, where it went on the car, how much it cost. Then he point to a box of his own and do the same thing. Together, they would put the boxes in their respective areas. Lather, rinse, repeat. 

After about two hours, Tom start unbuttoning his shirt. Thomas watched out of the corner of his eye, his own shirt soaked with sweat. He was sliding a box of steering wheel columns onto the shelf, when Tom sighed. 

“It’s hot. Would you be too terribly offended if I took my shirt off completely?”  
His stomach flipped; his mouth suddenly went dry. 

“We are where no one else can see, and it’s not like I’d be as naked as the day I was born. If it makes it any less awkward, I could care less if you took yours off.” 

Honestly, Tom had a point. It was just the two of them, and it’s not like Tom knew about him, right? Things didn’t have to be awkward. So Thomas started to undo his own buttons, keeping his eyes on the boxes.

_Don’t look, don’t look._

Unfortunately, his eyes had a mind of their own when it came to the bodies of men. He watched skillfully, without his head even turning a degree, as Tom slipped his white shirt off, followed by him sliding his undershirt up and over his head. 

And then his stomach didn’t just flip; it jumped all the way up his throat, until Thomas practically gasped. Tom was a little stocky, yes, but he wasn’t unattractive at all. His chest was slightly expanded, a thin layer of brown hair coating from under his collarbone, all the way down to the beginning of his trousers, an inch below his navel. His mind suddenly darted to the possibilities and curiosities about how far down that hair traveled, and it caused a flame to spark in the center of his own stomach. 

_Stop it. Don’t get hard, not now. You’d be ruined._

His will was strong enough to keep him from getting a hard on, but the image of a shirtless Tom Branson still captivated him. Unsure of what to do, Thomas removed his own shirts, thanking god for the dimness of the garage. He had to be blushing like a virgin bride at that moment, and the less obvious he was, the better. Thomas had his own fair share of hair, except it was darker, and he knew for a fact just how far it plunged. 

Turning away from the boxes, he looked at Tom full on. 

“Well- that one’s done.” 

Tom smirked. “Alright. Can you sweep up for me? I have a couple other boxes I want to shift around.”

Thomas nodded, walking back towards the threshold to grab a broom. As he swept, he kept glancing up from time to time, watching Tom. At one point, he stopped sweeping entirely to watch Branson lift a box onto a shelf. From his vantage point, he could witness the swell of his back muscles, the way they moved as he worked. It took all of his will to not imagine what it would be like to trace those same muscles with his tongue, Tom writhing beneath him. 

“Thomas?”

_Shit._

He had zoned out again, his attention coming back in time to see Tom walking towards him, worry on his face. “Are you alright?” As he said it, he brought a hand out, just like the night before, but this time Thomas stepped back, dropping the broom. 

“Thomas, I’m not going to hurt you.” 

He could feel the heat rising to his face, and shame over taking him. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I need some air.” He tried to step around Tom to go grab his shirt, but the Irishman grabbed a hold of his wrist as he passed, spinning him around. The two only had the space of another person between them. 

There was tension between the two. Tom locked eyes with Barrow, stepping forward ever so slightly. “I’m not going to hurt you.” He whispered. The distance kept closing, millimeter by millimeter. 

Oh how Thomas wanted to turn and run, but he was captivated by the eyes that bore into his own, by the electricity that pulsed through him from the touch of another man. It wasn’t a harsh touch, but it was gentle, caring even. 

“You’re not like me...” Thomas said, his voice barely above a whisper. There was fear there. Tom shook his head, and raised his right hand. 

Thomas flinched, a tiny minuscule reaction, but Tom was close enough he could see it. “Thomas,” he said. “I’m not going to hit you or hurt you. Believe me.” 

“But you’re not like me... you’re normal.” 

“Thomas, you are normal too. There’s nothing wrong with you. Everything about this is normal. Even this...”

Tom leaned forward, pressing his lips against Thomas’s own. It wasn’t passionate, and it wasn’t deep. But it was a kiss that showed promise. But promise of what? Thomas wasn’t sure, but he found himself more relaxed.

Tom pulled back. “Thomas, let’s go home, alright? You’re shaking...” And Tom was right, he was. His nerves had taken over his body, and caused a tremor so great that Branson had to hold him still.

* * *

If you were to ask Tom why he kissed Thomas, he couldn’t tell you. Perhaps it was the way that the man looked at him when he thought he wasn’t watching. There was a hunger, a desire. He hadn’t seen anything like that in years, and it was quite the turn on. But Tom had no impure intentions when he saw how Thomas froze, a blank stare coming over him. He approached with the thought of caring in his mind, a hope that Barrow really was okay. 

And the way he reacted when he raised a hand? It was like Thomas believed he was going to be struck down. He could feel the increase of his pulse from where he grabbed Thomas at the wrist. It was speeding up, erratic, and dangerous. At least in his mind.

No, that just wouldn’t do. He had to calm him some way; and a kiss was the first thing that came to mind. Then Thomas started shaking like a leaf, and Tom blamed himself. He’d take the poor man back to the Abbey, and let him relax some.

Of course, the two would have to talk later. But now Tom found himself with a challenge ahead. Would he let this go on? Or would he let their first kiss be their last? Not that Tom would mind kissing Thomas again, oh no. But there were complications in their day and age that would mean others just wouldn’t understand.

Tom was still lost in thought, wondering if his bold move had been the cause of desperation, or something more? Was he really having feelings for Thomas? Either way, he’d have to think about it later because he was pulled from his own mind by the sound of Thomas’s voice. 

“Are you ready, Tom?”

He nodded, watching the way Thomas now seemed to glow. Almost like Tom flipped a switch, and now the dark butler was a source of light. It was odd; is that really all it took for Thomas to look happy? 

Perhaps someone should be kissing Thomas more. He’d certainly be in a better mood.

* * *

Back at the Abbey, Thomas sat on his cot, staring at the wall. The day had been an interesting turn of events, to say the least. Tom Branson had kissed him - _him, Thomas Barrow_ \- and didn’t even ask for a quick blow. My, he certainly was a gentleman compared to some of the other men he’d met before. 

But was Branson really like him? Was he inclined to lean towards the male gender? No, it was impossible! He had married Lady Sybil and bore a child! No lavender could successfully put himself through _that_ situation, Thomas was sure of it. 

Maybe he had something to drink. Or maybe he was just open minded.

God, how Thomas wished he could get inside that man’s head. However, seeing him would practically make him break out in a cold sweat, and as a butler, breaking out in a cold sweat is not befitting to the job. _Of course, there are a lot of things that aren’t,_ Thomas thought. _Like-_

There was a light tapping upon his door. 

“Yes?” Thomas called.

“Mr. Bawwow!” came a voice from the other side. Thomas smiled, knowing the source. He opened the door to find Master George Crawley standing there, a toothy grin upon his face.

“Master George, how can I help you?”

“Uncle Tom wants you in the libwawy!” 

“Of course, I’ll head down to see him now.” 

“Mr. Bawwow?”

“Yes, Master George?”

“Can we play horse?” 

Thomas smiled. “Of course.” He lowered himself to the ground, as to let George climb onto his back. Ensuring the child was secure, he wrapped his arms around George’s legs, and took off, a light gallop for the sweet child. 

Yet his mind wandered in so many different directions. Surely, this meeting would be the death of him. Or worse, he’d be fired.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who know's what's going to happen next? Surely not I....
> 
> Once again, comments, criticisms, questions, anything! Just say it in the comments, and I'll be sure to respond. Thank you all!


	4. Ere the bloom of that valley shall fade from my heart.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A realization occurs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, so this note is going to be a tad lengthy. Why? Because there are things that I would like to say before you read this chapter, that's why. 
> 
> So first off, I want to give a huge thank you to everyone who has read, commented, and given kudos to this fic! It has meant the world to me, and I appreciate all of you. This brings me to item number two...
> 
> Initially, I had planned for this fic to be a "5 times and 1 time" kind of deal, with an epilogue at the end. This would have totaled seven chapters in all. However, I can no longer do that. Instead, you will now note that we have gone back to a question mark for the total number of chapters. Why? Because this fic is becoming a lot larger than I intended and I fucking love it. I don't know how long it's going to get, but I promise we'll get well past seven. 
> 
> Third, I am working on another fic as well. It's really WIP and I want to make sure that it's the best that it can be. It too is a Barrowson fic, but it will involve an AU of my own that I hope goes well and will include many OC's, as well as mixing quite a few genres. That will hopefully be out in the coming months. 
> 
> Lastly, I will try to have this updated every couple of days. I have no life whatsoever, and that gives me a lot of time that I can sit here and write. I do, however, apologize for the shorter chapters. I know a lot of people (myself included) love reading novel length chapters, but I am not able to write this specific story this way. Mainly because it helps me space things out better when they're about ten pages of text a chapter. But that's just me! 
> 
> I'll stop rambling so you can read this. Chapter wise, there are no triggers here.

Thomas carried George all the way through the house, until he go to the closed library door. Carefully, he set the young boy down, before leaning over him, a smile on his face.

“Now Master George, I’ll be right back. Wait out here for me, and when I’m done speaking to your uncle, we can play horse some more. Sound like a plan?” George nodded, a large grin on his face. Thomas straightened himself out, sweeping the dust off his jacket. With anxiety making his heart pick up speed, he opened the door and slipped inside. There was a fire going in the grate, and Tom was sitting on the couch, facing away from him. It had only been about three hours since the two had kissed, but god, Thomas could still feel it on his lips; like a holy fire. 

“Mr. Bran-” Thomas licked his lips, sighing. “Tom.” 

The Irishman turned around, lowering the paper in front of his face. “Thomas, good! Come sit. Please.” 

As a butler, Thomas was supposed to do as the Crawley’s commanded. But as himself, and whatever relationship he had with Branson now, he wanted to ignore him completely and run away. Unfortunately for him, he just couldn’t find it in himself to do that. So he did as he was told, per usual. 

“Thomas, I want to apologize-”

“There’s no need. It’s my fault.”

“Why would you say that?” 

“Because I should have been focused on working, and I shouldn’t-”

“Thomas, stop it.”

“It’s true.” Thomas said, under his breath. There was a hint of pain in his voice. “I should have left the shop.”

Tom scoffed, throwing the paper onto the couch. “You keep blaming yourself, and there’s nothing to be blamed for!” He lowered his voice, “It was a kiss, not the end of the world.” He crossed his legs. Thomas looked away from Branson, into the fire. 

“But-”  
“Seriously Thomas, stop it. I won’t hear any more of you making this a bad thing.” 

“So then why did you call me down here, if not to make me apologize?”

“I actually wanted to ask you to join me for dinner this evening.”

* * *

Thomas was standing in the kitchen, tracing his finger in some spilled flour on the counter. There was a slight smile on his face and a horde of butterflies in his stomach. In the distance, he heard footsteps approaching, and pushing himself back into his blank stare he straightened up. 

“Mrs. Pat- Oh, Mr. Barrow!” It was Andy. 

“Sorry to disappoint you, Andy, but Mrs. Patmore’s ran down to the village. I don’t know when she’ll be back; hopefully soon.” 

“Oh, that’s quite alright Mr. Barrow. I was just curious as to if we were fending for ourselves since we’re off tonight, or if she still planned on making dinner.” 

Thomas smirked at the footman. “Well, that’s all up to Mrs. Patmore. Of course, I have a few things I need to speak to her about tonight. It seems Tom-” Andy raised an eyebrow. “Mr. Branson, I mean, has invited me to eat with him.”

The footman chuckled. “Why are you getting asked to join them upstairs?” 

Thomas shrugged. “Perhaps I’m being recognized for the wonderful work I’ve done around here.” 

Andy smiled, but before he could respond, the sound of the back door opening and Mrs. Patmore grunting caused them both to run down the hall and help her with the groceries. She had quite the handful, and it was surprising she made it from the village all the way back without the help of anyone. Of course, she was quite the strong woman, as anyone downstairs (and up) would tell you. 

Thomas and Andy stood in the kitchen as Beryl Patmore separated the groceries out. She looked up from her task for a moment, eyeing them. “Now, what are you two standing about for?”  
“Mr. Barrow has been invited upstairs. For dinner.”

Mrs. Patmore laid her hands on her hips, pursing her lips. “Well, bully for you then, Thomas.” He just grinned back at her. “Why are you looking at me like that? Don’t you have some wine to decant? Especially now that I have to prepare something...”

“Actually,” Thomas said. “Mr. Branson has asked that you prepare something easy and that won’t take long. Perhaps something cold?” 

“And why would he ask me that, pray tell?”

“Because I told him that I wasn’t going to eat dinner up there, unless you were invited too.” 

Naturally, Beryl looked shocked. To be invited to eat at his Lordship’s table, by none other than Thomas Barrow? My, pigs must surely be flying. 

Andy piped up, confused. “Who’s going to serve, Mr. Barrow?” 

“Well, he said we’re going to serve ourselves.” 

It was at this point that Mrs. Patmore suddenly looked uncomfortable. She began to pick up items off the counter, and store them in their proper places. “I appreciate it Thomas, I really do. But I think it’d be better if I don’t come up. I don’t even have clothes to wear, and by the time I got back from my cottage, it would be too late.” 

“I understand. Perhaps I should stay as well, give you a helping hand?”

“Oh, no don’t worry about it. The others had planned on going out this evening, and you’d only be dining alone.” Thomas turned to Andy. 

“Really? And where are you all heading?”

“Well, a few of us were going to go see a picture; we thought it’d be good fun and a good way to spend the night.”

“Right, then. I’m going to do some paperwork. Mrs. Patmore, please let me know when you start dinner.” 

“Of course.”

Turning on his heels, Thomas left the other two alone. When he was out of eyesight, Beryl gave Andy a confused look, in which he responded by shrugging. “I honestly couldn’t tell you,” he whispered. “But Mr. Branson is a radical. Maybe he wants to shake things up a bit?”

“I don’t know, Andy. But it’s odd, I’ll tell you that much.” She looked at the door that Thomas left from. “Have you seen Daisy? I want her to help me... I think I’ll serve bubble and squeak. I’m sure we have some leftover ham as well...”

“She went to Mr. Mason’s farm, Mrs. Patmore.”

“Fine, I’ll make do without her.”

* * *

Thomas had finished all the paperwork and decanted the wine, only to head upstairs and review the contents of his wardrobe. In short, there were only three things he could possibly wear. His livery, which was out of the question, a brown suit, and dark green suit. With the wardrobe’s door open, he sat on his cot, examining the colors. 

_Brown is a traditional color, that would keep things simple. However, green would go well with my hair,_ he thought. He cursed under his breath, dropping his face into his hands. Why did he care what he looked like? Was it because he wished to actually impress Branson? 

Of course not.

Right? 

Thomas couldn’t answer his own question, and found himself flustered. Unable to choose himself, he closed his eyes, rose from his bed, and approached the suits. Putting his hand out, he decided that whichever one his hand touched, would be the one he would wear.

Stepping forward, he felt his hand touch the smooth material of a jacket, and he opened his eyes.

The green one. _How ironic_ he told himself. _Green is the color of Ireland. Fitting._

Smiling, he pulled the outfit out, and started to change. When he was standing in just his undergarments, he looked at the mirror in the corner of his room. Thomas, no matter what people would say, was never a vain man. He never cared what he looked like, because he always felt under the radar. Being a servant, no one would notice him. So why bother with looks? However, he watched himself. He watched as he would move his limbs, seeing the way the muscles flexed. He took note of the way his calves would tighten as he would stand on his toes, and he even flexed his bum. Suddenly feeling as if he was being watched, he quickly threw the suit on. Checking his pocket watch, he decided to head down. It was nearing seven o’clock, and Tom would be expecting him any moment. 

Oh, how nervous he was. It was the same exact feeling he had the night before in front of the drawing room door, just as he was about to turn the doorknob. 

Checking himself over in the mirror once more, he made his way downstairs.

* * *

Tom was standing in the foyer of the abbey, looking at the art adorning the walls. His eyes went from piece to piece, roaming the various works that were owned by the Crawley’s. He did this for a few moments, before he heard a door behind him being opened. Turning, he found Thomas watching him, nerves apparent. 

“Thomas, I’m glad you decided to show up. Where’s Mrs. Patmore?”

“She regrets to decline the invitation, because she was afraid of not being able to change in time.” 

“Ah, quite alright. I’ll go down and see her after dinner. So it’s just us, then?”

“Yes.” 

“I see.” Tom smiled, and stepped to the side, extending his arm. Following suit, Thomas started the walk to the dining room. “Tell me Thomas, have you ever been a fan of art?”

“Pardon?”

“Paintings; like the one Robert collects. Like that one there,” Tom pointed to a pleasantly framed work up above the servant’s doorway. “That is The Judgement of Solomon by Giorgione. And that,” he said, “is-”  
“Diana and Endymion.”

Tom looked at Thomas, shocked. “So you are a fan?”

“Somewhat. I...” he suddenly grew nervous again. “I owned a copy of a book on paintings when I was younger. I didn’t have many books, I’m afraid. So I kept it and read it over.” 

“Huh. Who knew the butler of Downton Abbey was a fan of art.” 

“Well, you did ask.”

Tom smiled. “Come, let’s eat. I’m hungry.” 

The two made their way through the house to the dining room, which was set for the two of them. Thomas sat in front of the fireplace, and Branson was directly across from him. Andy stood by, bringing them their plates and pouring their wine. 

“I thought you were going out, Andrew?”

“I am, Mr. Barrow. But I wanted to make sure you all were well off before I did.”

“I think we’re fine,” Branson replied. He smiled at the boy, taking a sip of his wine. “Go and enjoy your night off. I know the others don’t let you have very many.” 

“Thank you, sir.”

“Have a good night, Andy.”

The two of them were left alone, Thomas to exist in a strange sense of nerves and Tom to steal glances at the butler every so often. He couldn’t place his finger on it, but something was very alluring about Thomas. The darkness and mystery that surrounded him? Perhaps. But he was certainly nothing like Sybil, that’s for sure (besides the obvious). 

Ah, Sybil. How Tom’s heart still ached when he thought of her and the way she left this earth too early. But he also recalled the happiness that he felt when she was his bride, bringing a light to his life that no other woman has done before, nay, will ever do again. Maybe that’s where this was coming from... Tom knew he would never be able to love a woman again, and so he has chosen to remain single throughout the rest of his life. Sure, there were a few short spouts here and there, but he didn’t have the courage to pursue. But Thomas? Thomas was not a woman. He was vastly different creature from his late wife, but he still brought joy to Tom; and Thomas may not even know the happiness he brings. Downstairs, all he carried with him was an attitude and air that no one would deal with. But after his unfortunate attempt at suicide, he had changed. Tom was, perhaps, the first to notice. He saw the way that he now smiled. He also saw when Thomas first entered his depression, suddenly becoming melancholy and sad with everything that occurred. This was all because Tom had developed a strange liking to the man when he first became staffed at the Abbey. At dinner his first night, Thomas had an aura of control about him that was captivating, Tom was unable to help himself from looking at him. But then he met Lady Sybil, who took his heart and everything else was, as they say, history. 

But Tom made sure to pay attention to the happenings of the downstairs staff in his long winded attempt to court Lady Sybil. And when the war came, he witnessed the effect it had on the others below the house, with a few of their own being swept away. Thomas was one of those men, as well as William. Everyday, as the mail would come, Tom found himself holding his breath, until the day a letter arrived from the war office. It was addressed to O’Brien, which didn’t shock many people. 

To this day, he can still remember the hushed servants standing around, O’Brien carefully opening the letter. She was shaking, he observed, and he realized she even had tears dripping down her cheeks. He was shaking too,

“We regret to inform you...” she shut her eyes tight, the shaking getting worse. “Thomas Barrow has been injured in the war, and will be taken for treatment immediately.” She exhaled a breath, and there was a murmur throughout the group. So it seemed Barrow would live another day.

When he returned from war, Thomas was a different man, colder and more harsh. Tom had assumed it had something to do with shell shock, and the lasting effects it could have on one’s life. 

Years later, Tom realized that’s what could have started his downward spiral. 

He still remembered the day that Robert was given the news that Thomas slit his wrists in the bath. It was shocking, to say the least. Tom even found himself tearing up at the news, though no one else saw him. 

But all that was over, because Thomas had survived, and now he was gracing Tom with his presence. This man, who had suffered so many trials, more than anyone should face, survived them all. Tom had to admit as well, that he looked damn good doing it; the green suit he was wearing complimented his already bright eyes. It was fitted perfectly around his shoulders, making them broader. 

“Thomas...”

Looking up from his food, Thomas’s face was suddenly caught by the light, his eyes glowing. He was beautiful and it caught Tom off guard. Unable to control himself, he let his mouth fall open slightly. Truthfully, it was a scene from a romantic novel, in which the main heroine finally catches the attention of some man, who now sees her as a work of art, His heart fluttered and his stomach twirled. People joke that you fall in love quickly, and in this case, it was true. One moment he was simply crushing on Thomas, but now? It hit him like a brick. 

Tom could honestly love this man. That is, if Thomas would let him. 

“Tom? Are you alright?”

“Thomas... I... today-”

“Can we please not talk about it. I don’t want you to take the blame for it.”

“But don’t you understand? There is no blame to be given anywhere, Thomas. Because it was of my own free will that I kissed you... and I would very much like to do it again.”

There was a clatter as Thomas dropped his fork. “You what?”

“I made no mistake in what I did. At first, I did it because you were scared and acted like I was going to hurt you, I didn’t know what else to do. So I kissed you.” 

“B-but-”

“No buts.”

“You said you want to kiss me again?”

“Yes, I do.” Tom licked his lips. “I want to. But I want to do this the right way, Thomas. I moved too quickly, I fear.”

“What are you saying?”  
“I want to court you, Thomas.”

Thomas stood, his legs hitting the table as he did. “But you know that’s not possible. Society forbids it.”

“We’ll keep it a secret, the two of us. Thomas, just listen to me please? And sit back down.” 

Ever the butler, Thomas sat. His hands were shaking and his mouth was dry. He drank a sip of his wine, and then some of his water. “I can’t believe this is happening,” he said. “Tom, you’re not like I am! You can’t be doing this. You have a child..”

“I do, Thomas. But I never said I wasn’t interested in women. I am, at least, I was. Since Sybil died, I’ve been... lonely. I can’t bring myself to be with anyone else, Thomas. At least, that’s what I thought. But sitting here with you, just now, I realized that I can. I could learn to be happy again. And I want to. With you.” 

“Tom, I don’t think this is a good idea. People like me, we don’t deserve happiness. We end up in prison or beaten in the streets. You don’t want this.”

Standing, Tom made his way around the table to the other man, kneeling beside him. He reached out, and took Thomas’s hand his own. Thomas wanted to pull his hand back, but that feeling of electricity pulsed through his body again, and he couldn’t bring himself to pull away. So he sat there, mesmerized by the scene unfolding. 

“I do want this. At least give me a chance, Thomas. Please. I think I could make the both of us happy.” 

Thomas’s mind flashed back to the garage earlier, in which their two naked chests were pressed together, lips against his own. 

Acting on their own accord, his hands reached out and grabbed Tom’s face, slowly pulling him towards his own. There noses were touching, and he could feel his warm breath. For a moment, they sat like that, eyes searching, gazing into each other’s souls.

“I can’t do this,” Thomas repeated, his voice a shaky whisper.

“Yes you can,” Tom repeated. And then he leaned forward, tilting his face ever-so-slightly to the right, making contact with Thomas’s lips. And the second they touched, there was a new spark, one that spiked the passion that was missing from the first kiss. They both leaned into each other, the kiss becoming heated. Before he even knew what he was doing, Thomas opened his mouth to let Tom’s tongue enter. He hadn’t had a moment like this since he was with the Duke, and even then, this felt more innocent. 

Thomas grazed his teeth across Tom’s lips, and there was a soft whimper from the Irishman. 

Okay, so maybe Thomas could do this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MORE NOTES. YAY. 
> 
> I am planning on this next chapter to be a doozy (whatever that means, you all will see) and it should be published hopefully before the week is out! 
> 
> Once more, any comments, questions, criticisms, fangirling, etc would be appreciated! I read everything you all leave me, and it warms my heart!


	5. Piece By Piece (Part I)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, no one asked for any more angst. But here we are. 
> 
> You'll notice this chapter is... odd. It's very sporadic in terms of events and seems to be disconnected in a way. It's that way on purpose, and you'll see why. Also, this and the next two chapters were meant to be one, but I chose to break it up into three parts. 
> 
> Triggers: A mild flashback of child abuse.
> 
> I can't promise people will be happy with this chapter.

After their dinner together, things went back to normal. Well, as normal as they could be for Thomas and Tom. The Crawley’s returned from London, as well as the few members of the staff who went with them. Downstairs, the others noticed a considerable change in Thomas’ demeanor, smiling almost all the time. He even said nothing but kind words to John Bates upon his arrival home which both shocked and delighted many. 

Tom and Thomas didn’t have a chance to meet privately over the course of that week, but they did share secret glances and even a few winks whenever Thomas served dinner. 

One evening, about eight days after the kiss, Thomas was standing in the kitchen with Mrs. Patmore, going over the inventory. They made their way down the list, checking their stock as they did. They seemed to be doing well, until they arrived at flour. Beryl had checked the servant's pantry, but they were very near to running out. 

“I’m sure someone is making a run,” she said, but Thomas shook his head. 

“Everyone else is busy. I have to run into the village to grab a few items myself, so I’ll make the rounds and see if there are any other needed supplies for the house.” He smiled that odd little smile, and Beryl bit her lip. She sighed. “Thomas, is everything... alright? You’ve been in quite the mood lately.” 

“Of course it is, Mrs. Patmore! I just feel like I’ve woken up with a better spirit this past week. Everything feels so much better than it did before.” 

“Right... Now you better get a move on. Clouds were gatherin’ earlier, and I don’t want you to get stuck hauling groceries around in the rain.” Thomas nodded, and went on his way.

As he was walking the path to the village, he went over the list in his hand: flour, some thread, needles, buttons, more polisher, and Thomas also decided he would buy some chocolates to give to the children. In the distance, there was a rumble of thunder, and Thomas scanned the horizon. The clouds were getting darker, so he walked faster, adamant to be home before the rain began. 

Things seemed to clear a little bit as he did more shopping, but Thomas was still afraid of being stuck out in the open, so he made sure that he was being diligent. When he finished everything, he stood on the steps of the candy shop and smoked a cigarette. As the familiar burn filled his lungs, he looked around at the people in the village, and smiled. Across the road from him, there was a younger gentleman leaning against the brick wall of the post office, watching Thomas. There was a trace of a smile on his face, and being kind, Thomas nodded at him, flashing his own smile. His dark eyes seemed to glint as he tilted his head, studying the butler. Thomas, having decided enough time had been wasted, stomped his cigarette out and began the trek back to the Abbey. His arms were a little sore from the bags, but he would manage. 

He was alone on the path, humming to himself, when he registered soft footfall behind him. Thomas turned around, expecting to see another staff member, but he was instead face-to-face with the gentleman from the village. 

“Oh... hello.” Thomas said.

“Afternoon.” The man had a Scottish accent, so familiar from hearing Mrs. Hughes’ brogue. Thomas studied him more, noting the prominent cheekbones, the slicked back hair, and the handsome face. He was young, younger than Thomas, but he couldn’t have been much older than Andy was. “Where are you off to?”

“I’m heading back to the Abbey; and yourself?”

“Oh, I’m going wherever you are.” 

Thomas stared back. “Pardon?”

“I saw the look you gave me back there. I know what it is you want, and I’m willing to give it to ya.”

“Sir, I think you’re confused.”

“No, I don’t think I am.” He began to walk closer, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Unless you want to bugger out here, where you could ruin that pretty little outfit of yours?” 

Thomas would happily admit to anyone who asked, that he was a sexual being. He loved sex, and he just couldn’t get enough of it. However, that didn’t mean he wanted it all the time, and right now on this path, was one of those times he _didn’t_. Clearly, this bastard didn’t understand. “I’m going to pretend like you didn’t ask me that, and I’m going to go. Good day.” 

Turning to walk away, Thomas heard the man run at him. Before he could get a chance to spin around and defend himself, he was shoved to the ground. The bags fell from his arms, and scattered about the path. He was flipped over onto his back, and pinned; this man was a lot stronger than he was, and it was quite obvious that Thomas couldn’t fight back. 

Leaning in, the man pressed his forehead against Thomas’ own, sneering all the while. “You think,” he said, “that you can get me all turned on by making me follow you out here, expecting to get busy and you turn me down? Oh, I think not.” He ground his hips into Thomas, a hiss escaping his lips. Thomas opened his mouth, preparing to yell, but the other man’s hand was there before any sound was emitted. Raising his left fist, he brought it down against Thomas’ temple, effectively rendering him unconscious.

* * *

Anthony Barrow had a reputation for being a good Christian father for his three children. With the absence of a mother (who died in the birth of Thomas’ youngest sibling, Lucille), he was alone to raise his kids. People regarded him as a saint, caring for these children and taking on burdens that were so hard in those days. But behind closed doors, he was no more than a drunk. Daniel, Thomas’ older brother, was the one who watched his siblings and made sure their dad didn’t waste away from alcohol poisoning. 

Anthony was also known for his craftsmanship with clocks. Not only did he repair them, but he made and sold his own brand. 

It was because of these clocks that Anthony Barrow first laid a hand on Thomas. The two were sitting at a table, the day after Thomas’ eighth birthday, and he was showing the boy how to fix a small mantle clock. After explaining, he handed it off to his son.

“Be careful when winding it back up; go too far, and you’ll strip the mechanism.” Thomas, taking heed, began to slowly turn the winder. But there was a grinding sound that caused him to freeze. Snatching the clock from his son’s hands, Anthony checked and found the mechanism stripped. “You stupid boy!” he growled, swinging his right arm against Thomas’ face, the clock still gripped there. 

The force was so great, it sent Thomas to the floor. The clock had hit him above the eye as well, giving him a cut. 

“You ruin everything, Thomas. Everything!”

* * *

Back at the Abbey, the rest of the downstairs staff sat around the table in the servant’s hall, sipping their tea. Outside, a storm from the depths of hell raged on and Andy sat in his seat, eyeing the spot at the head of the table that was empty. No one else really seemed to mind that Thomas was missing from tea, but it didn’t settle well with him. Anna, sitting beside John, noticed that Andy looked worried. She leaned across to him. “Andy, what’s wrong?”

“I’m just wondering where Mr. Barrow is... he left hours ago to grab some things and he should be back by now, right?”

Phyllis caught wind of the conversation and jumped in. “Perhaps he decided to wait this storm out in the village? He’s smart, he’d do something like that.” 

“Andy, Mr. Bates and I are walking back to the cottage when the storm is over. We’ll keep an eye for him then, alright?”

“Thank you, Mrs. Bates. I appreciate it.”

“It’s nice to know you care about him. It’s good that you’re his friend.”

* * *

True to their word, the Bates left the Abbey as soon as the rain stopped. Thunder still lulled in the distance, but it was nothing too concerning for the couple. They made their way down the grassy path to the village, discussing new things to be planted come spring. 

“Well,” Anna said. “We have so many flowers to choose from. You know how I feel about roses.”

“Yes, I do. However, I think they’re so boring and regular. What about orchids? They always come back.”

“You want to talk about boring? There is nothing romantic about orchids, and besides, they’re- wait, what’s that?” Anna stopped, looking ahead. She pointed her finger towards a small accumulation of items that had no belonging on this road. The two approached and surveyed the scene. 

There was what looked to be ripped cloth strayed about, tinged with red. There was also broken glass stained with the same crimson and other various items. However, there was one in particular that made John Bates freeze in his tracks. Off to the right side of the road, there was a small item laying alone. He cautiously approached and bent down. “Isn’t this Thomas’ glove?” He asked, fear creeping into his voice. 

“You don’t think... that this is from Thomas?”

“Andy was right, he’s been gone for hours.”

“Do you think he’s around here right now?”

“We should look.”

John went off the road on the side the glove was on, and yelled for Anna to follow. There was panic in his voice, enough that made Anna jog through the tall grass to her husband. The site she found him at was heartbreaking, gruesome, and vile. It was Thomas, at least, they thought it was. He was leaned up against a tree, half of his clothes missing. There was so much blood, Anna couldn’t stand to look. 

His face got the least amount of damage; a black eye and a bruised temple. 

John turned to his wife and said “Run back to the Abbey, as quick as you can, and ring for Dr. Clarkson. Tell no one what’s happened, please. We need to make sure he gets treated first.” 

Anna nodded, and took off down the path. Bates focused his attention back onto Thomas, surveying the damage. His heart raced as he set his fingers against Thomas’ neck, feeling for a pulse. It took a moment, and it was faint, but he felt it there. When he established that Thomas was still alive, he looked down at the shreds that remained of his suit. It was clear that someone ripped it off of him, yet the jacket was folded neatly by the tree as a cruel joke. Looking at Thomas’ bare legs, there were streaks of red. John could imagine that it got worse if you turned him over. 

In the distance, Bates could hear yelling. Within moments, his dear wife entered the scene again. 

“Clarkson is on his way. John, I had to tell someone about this.”

“Who?”

“I got Andy.”

As if on cue, Andy ran in, only to stop short. His eyes went wide and his knees buckled. He opened his mouth to say something, anything, but no words came out.

* * *

“Dr. Clarkson, how is he?”

“He’s in a very bad condition, Mrs. Hughes. What happened to him is something that no human being deserves, and I doubt he’s going to mentally recover for quite some time. Be prepared for a totally different Thomas than you’ve seen before.” 

“Thank you... for everything.”

“It’s the least I can do. Now, I want him to have at least three days of bed rest before anyone tries to get him to do anything. He’s not going to be able to handle much in the beginning. Is Mr. Carson able to take over?”

“Yes, he’s coming tonight. He’s telling his lordship that Thomas has taken ill.” 

“Very good. Do not hesitate to call me if anything changes.”

“I will.”

“And Mrs. Hughes?”

“Yes?”

“Watch him, please. He could very well attempt to take his life again.”

“Do you think so, Dr. Clarkson?”

“I don’t doubt it at all.”

“Thank you, Dr. Clarkson.”

“Of course.”

* * *

That evening, Anna was in Lady Mary’s room, dressing her for dinner. Mary was close enough with Anna that she could sense trouble, and pick things up. 

“Anna, is everything alright?”

“Of course, m’lady.”

“You seem down.”

“I’m fine, m’lady.”

“Oh, come off it. I can see something is troubling you, Anna. Tell me?”

“It’s... you have to promise not to say anything, m’lady.”

“You have my word.”

“It’s Thomas.”

“Barrow? What about him. Papa said he was sick.”

“M’lady... do you remember the events that happened with Mr. Greene years ago?”

Mary spun around, a sudden fire burning in her eyes. “Anna, are you telling me that Thomas forced-”

“No! It’s quite the opposite.”

“How so? Anna, you’re confusing- oh.” Mary’s eyes widened. “Oh.. Anna, are you saying Thomas was...?”

Anna nodded, dropping her eyes to the floor. Mary let herself fall into her vanity’s seat, shock still on her face. “Anna... is he alright?”

“Mrs. Hughes said we won’t know until he starts interacting with the others. But that could take days, as far as we know.”

“Who else knows?”

“Mr. Carson, Mrs. Hughes, Dr. Clarkson, myself, Mr. Bates, and you. Oh, and Andrew Parker.” 

“Before dinner, can you take me to him? I want to see him and let him know I’m here for him. It’s the very least I can do.”

Anna nodded, leading the way. Mary trailed behind her, a melancholy air existing between the two. They arrived at Thomas’ door and Mary turned to Anna. “Do you mind if I go in alone?”

“Of course not, m’lady.” 

Mary knocked on the door very softly, opening it. As soon as she saw Thomas sitting on the bed, her heart broke. His face was slightly swollen and there were cuts and bruises all over. Slowly, she walked towards him, speaking softly. 

“Thomas, it’s me, Mary.” She dropped all formalities, the moment being too serious for them. All she got in return was a blank stare. “I wanted to come see you, Thomas.” She reached a hand out to set against his leg, a rule that breaks boundaries but this situation called for a specific amount of tenderness. The moment her hand touched his leg, he recoiled. He gasped, yanking his legs up to his chest and a mangled sob escaped his lips. 

Mary froze.

“Thomas?”

He shook his head at her, a clear indication that she was to leave. Mary took no offense to it, and left. Once she shut Thomas in his room, she looked at Anna once before going down for dinner.

* * *

For the next few days, Anna was the only one to go into Thomas’ room, because it seemed she was the only person whom Thomas would not freak out about. She could even coax a few words out of him at a time. She eventually became close with him, and after about a week together, she could even get him to smile sometimes. It was then that Thomas said he was up to seeing some of the others, so long as they stayed a short distance away. 

Anna knew, right then, that Thomas was fragile; that he lost his anger and his hard shell. Now, he was empty. 

She knew the feeling well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said it would be a doozy, and it's not over yet. We have two more chapters before we see happier days; maybe. My outline for these three parts total about six pages, so yay. Comments, criticism, and questions are all welcome! 
> 
> P.S: MORE ANGST IS ON THE HORIZON!


	6. IMPORTANT UPDATE AND INFO FOR THOSE WHO ENJOY THIS FIC

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An important update, because I don't wish to leave anyone hanging any longer.

Alright, so I know many have read this story and questioned "when will he be updating?" And I hate to be the one to say it, but I have no idea. I have completely lost inspiration for this story (having lost my outline didn't help with that, either) but I don't wish to orphan the work, should inspiration suddenly strike.

I felt it was important to update this fic, so those reading (and those who have read, bookmarked, and subscribed) know where this stands. So as of right now, it's at a standstill. As I mentioned before, I don't want to orphan it. I feel like that says I'm fully giving up on these two gorgeous men and I just can't do that. So tags have been added (unfinished and undecided) so incoming readers know.

Now, this is the part where I thank those of you who have read this and commented, or even left kudos! Hell, even if you just skimmed through it I'm thankful for you. You're the reason I write and I hope I provide content that you find to be of good quality.

I have mentioned before that I was working on a Barrowson fic that was an AU that involved various Sci-Fi and supernatural elements. It's still happening, I've just made the personal decision to have at least four full chapters written before I publish the first one. This way, I can always have at least three chapters ready and in the queue so I can update on a pretty normal schedule of (I hope) once a week. As of today (July 9, 2016) I have officially started the first chapter. It's taken me a long time to research and make sure things are still somewhat realistic.

Before I go, I created a small Barrowson playlist for writing this fic. It's all on youtube, and it's short but there are different genres of music. You can listen to that [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G7MD7f1MsGs&list=PLtkPy0SNVZ0r8G593ChHqiVovyWT4aF0R&index=1) and I hope you enjoy it. 

I hope this update isn't the last thing posted of this fic, because I had a vision for Thomas and his Irish lover. And while I can't find the right way to tell it, I can confirm fully that the ending is a happy one. 

Kind wishes my friends, and keep filling up the Thomas/Tom tag, please! That's all I ask of you.

Regards,

Chase (AlfredVonKrolock)


End file.
